Filed Under
The lair smelled like solder and bad decisions.
Melancholy
Still Light
The morning started with Donnie eating toast over the sink the way he always did
The Canvas
The rock cut through her gloves at the third handhold.
Thorn Apple
Ruthanne stopped apologizing years ago.
The Phone
I can make it ring.
The Lighter
She watches the blue at the root of the flame.
The Final Meal
The room is cold. A hospital cold that lives in the walls.
The Last Mercy
Three flowers, a knife, and the burden of knowing what mercy costs.
Free-Fall Forward
She whispered it aloud. Her voice. Lower, gruffer.
The Voicemail
Forever now. Somehow that made it matter less.
The Acknowledgement
Between panes of glass, choice slips away.